Quickly Juliana breaks the connection.

She has gone too far. She has blundered, said too much. She pours another inch or two of vodka into the glass. Already her phone is ringing.

She sees, of course it’s Ned calling her. She has gone too far, he will be vexed with her.

She’d been a reckless child. Lighting matches. Lighting matches, dropping matches. No intention of setting a fire. But the fire has happened.

Timorously, Juliana lifts the receiver. And there is Ned’s voice, close in her ear, lowered, cautious.

Juliana? You just called—did you?

Don’t do this to me, Juliana. To us.

My wife is not well—you know that. Please.

I think—we have to stop this. Whatever this is, it must cease.

Don’t ruin my life, Juliana. Please.

If you love me—you’ve said—and yes, I love you—but—if you ruin my life—there will be no love …

Juliana has not intended to speak, only just to listen, to hear the voice of the man she adores. To hear him admit how he has wronged her, to apologize. She intended to listen to him in silence, in dignity, perhaps she would forgive him, but these words are not the words she wishes to hear, these are words that inflame, goad. She hears herself cry—Your life? Goddamn you, what about my life? My life is in ruins.

Breaking the connection, furious.

Following this, much seemed to happen.

Ever more swiftly, like the swirling of water into a drain.

Another night, waiting in a car borrowed from a lawyer friend, allegedly for a work-related errand.

Cannily, not in front of the Spire house (of course), but two houses away. Headlights off. Ignition still on. At midnight seeing a light in her lover’s house upstairs. A single, weaker light downstairs. Like wildfire, elation overcame her. Flames licking at her hair, her fingertips. She’d brought a bottle of vodka with her. With defiant fingers she lifted the bottle, drank. Consoling herself—None of this is real. This is just a test. I can stop anytime. I will stop.

It was within Juliana’s rights as the beloved of the man who lived in that house to approach the front door, to ring the bell. The lover’s poetry often spoke of risk, daring. To gain life one must be willing to risk life.

Soon then, the upstairs light went out. The downstairs light remained.

Juliana thought—He would come to me if he knew. He wouldn’t let me suffer like this.

Waiting for him to come to her, but he did not come, and so finally, feeling very tired, she decided to drive away.